


Bloody Revenge

by tawdis



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, vamp!Dean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-24
Updated: 2013-06-05
Packaged: 2017-12-14 09:59:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/835642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tawdis/pseuds/tawdis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While hunting a group of vampires in PA, Dean finds himself in a tight situation. To avenge his fallen, the leader of the vampire nest turns Dean into one of his own. Sam and Dean must figure out how to reverse the transformation before it's too late, finding some help from Cas along the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Bloody Revenge

Chapter 1

      Sam grunted as the Impala sped over a bump in the rough, rural road, the momentum and force heaving at his chest. The street lamps were passing by rapidly outside the window, casting quick flashes of yellow light upon Dean’s hard face. His grip tightened on the steering wheel and his knuckles turned white, the bones in his hands practically protruding through the skin.

      “Dean, do you think you could slow down?” Sam asked while shooting Dean a concerned and almost frightened look. The car’s speed didn’t alter, however. “Dean-” but Sam was cut off before he could finish his protest.

      “There are people’s lives at stake here, man!” Dean hollered over the roar of the Impala, his face growing red with frustration. “And it’s all my fault.” Sam’s mouth opened slightly, his bottom lip twitching, ready to argue back, but instead he let out an audible huff and held his tongue for the rest of the ride. Dean’s anger welled up again, wrinkles and creases forming on his forehead as his brow scrunched. He slammed his hands on the wheel and pushed his foot a little harder on the gas pedal.

      Dean finally began to slow down, although not much, as they neared their destination- an old, abandoned split-level on the outskirts of town. He nudged his head back, a signal for Sam to grab their equipment which was already gathered in the back seat for accessibility. Sam sorted it all out in his lap, stuffing some syringes full of dead man’s blood in his inside coat pocket and unsheathing his machete, and set aside the rest of the stuff for Dean.

The Impala slowed to a stop as they pulled into the gravel driveway behind a parked Ford truck with its paint chipping off. Fresh blood could be seen in the car’s headlights dripping down the backside of the truck, the red of the blood seeping into the deep orange of the rust that covered the vehicle in patches.

With quick, forceful movements, Dean grabbed his knife, swung open the car door, and planted his feet firmly on the ground, the stones crunching beneath his worn boots. Sam followed Dean’s lead, closing the door behind him with the push of his hand. He let out a heavy sigh as he ran a sweaty hand through his hair, still unsure and wary of the situation. He had told Dean earlier about his ambivalence towards the plan, but he was adamant about doing it this way, albeit reckless.

“They’re probably-“  
      “Sam, I know.” Dean interrupted, irritated. “That’s why we are armed and ready.” He rose up his machete to emphasize his point. Done with talking, he started for the front of the house up at the top of the driveway. Without much of a choice, Sam followed two steps behind, his weapon swinging at his side.

“I have a bad feeling about this.” He warned inanely, but Dean, of course, did not respond.

The air around the house was stagnant and thick, moisture clinging to their skin in a hot film like sweat would on a midsummer’s day, except it was only spring. Skeeved a bit by the feeling, Sam tried to brush it off with his wrist against his forearm, but it did little to help. The small temporary distraction was nice, though. Dean could not care less about the uncomfortable conditions, but he was, however, worried about the absolute darkness that covered everything beyond arm’s reach.

They were surely at the disadvantage, vampires being keen hunters of the night, and even more deciding, they were on the vampires’ turf, their own nesting grounds. Dean had his doubts, sure, and he was nervous about what was to transpire in mere seconds, which was only natural, but none of that mattered. Dean was on the hunt, his blood pumping, adrenaline coursing through his system, and like he said, people’s lives were at stake, people who he felt personally responsible for. Nothing could stop him, not now.

There wasn’t a single moment of hesitation. Dean pushed the door wide open, machete ready, and lo and behold, the vamps were standing ready for them, their secondary set of teeth bared in a savage, hungry way. The pack was small in numbers, only four remaining.  The room smelt metallic with the scent of blood, which was in puddles in various places on the floor, and light was scarce, though it was noticeably easier to see inside than it was outside due to a faint glow which radiated from the lower floor.

The first thing both brothers noticed upon entering was the limp, mutilated body of a young, blonde-haired woman sprawled on the floor in the back of the room, blood coating her skin and saturated into her clothes. Her name was Chelsea, and she was one of the eight people Dean and Sam had tried to protect, back when they were at Paddy’s. At this point, there were only five people remaining, at least as far as the two of them knew.  As Dean saw it with is backwards logic, he was responsible for the deaths of three people, and he wasn’t going to allow a single more.

A wave of heat swept over Dean’s body as he laid his eyes upon the harrowing sight. “You son of a bitch!” He yelled, directing his exclamation at one of the vampires closest to him, one with sandy brown hair and deep-brown eyes; this particular vamp was the leader of the small pack. Dean’s anger was boiling inside of him, his hands aching from how tight his fingers gripped the handle of the serrated blade.

“Whoa there, buddy.” The leader said with the raise of his eyebrows. He took a step forward towards Dean and Sam, a smug smirk forming on his stubbly, blood-splattered face. “Does it really surprise you that we helped ourselves to this fine young lady? She was only _bait_ after all, right, Dean?” A female vampire with wavy black hair, the leader’s mate, let out a small, airy laugh, finding humor and enjoyment at what brought only pain to the hunters.

“You shut your damn mouth.” Dean took a step forward as well, his head inclined and his weapon pointed at the leader vamp’s throat.

He raised a finger at Dean while his other hand rubbed at his stubble. “Come on; don’t take me as a fool. I have seen your type before, and I know exactly what you were playing at.” The blood sucker’s tone turned accusing. The two of them were now circling each other, their eyes locked. “You planted yourselves in that bar fully aware of what was to come, and you waited, probably making small talk with some of the _lovely_ patrons there. Little did they know, they were just bait.” Dean’s breathing was getting heavier as the vamp picked at his nerves. “Instead of hunting us down before we could take more lives, you laid us a trap, a pretty poor one at that, and by doing so put several lives in harm’s way. But that’s just how you hunters are, doing whatever it takes to kill the dirty monsters in the dark.”

Dean couldn’t take it any longer. He had finally snapped. “I said shut up!” Dean swung at the vamp, but he evaded it and stepped in, grabbing Dean’s wrist and pulling him closer.

“You’re making this too easy.” He whispered into Dean’s ear before throwing him across the room. The wooden planks of the wall cracked and splintered as his back smashed into it with great brunt.

That’s when all hell broke loose. One of the lesser vamps started towards Sam head on while the other one slowly edged towards him from around the other side of the room. As the first got within range, Sam swung the machete with one, clean movement, taking the vampire’s head off with accuracy and ease. He was getting pretty good at this. He turned to the second, who was now moving in more swiftly. He reached into his coat pocket and grabbed one of the syringes, jabbing it into the vampire’s neck and ejecting the thick, dark-red blood into its veins. As the vampire started to keel over, Sam beheaded it in the same manner as the last. That left only two more- the leader and his mate.

Sam started towards Dean, but before he could get close, the female vamp cut him off.

“Not so fast, sweetie.” She licked her teeth lustfully as she eyed Sam.

Meanwhile, Dean was starting to get off the floor, his scrapped hands trying to push his weight up, but the sandy-haired vamp was standing over him with a blank look on his face, his eyes staring at Dean but almost through him. Dean, though sorely hurt, was still teeming with rage and the urge to kill the fucker right above him, but his body was failing him. The vampire grabbed him by his forearm and pulled him up onto his feet, wrapping his free arm around Dean’s neck. He effortlessly pulled the blade from his hand and threw it to the floor, the metal rattling against the worn, grayed wood.

Dean struggled with all his might, grabbing at the arm around his chest and throat and trying to wriggle out of the hold. The vamp tightened his grip and reached into his pocket with his free hand, pulling out a needle full of clear liquid between his fingers. Sam’s eyes grew wide at the sight of it, but the black-haired vamp got him in a hold before he could do anything.

“We have tranquilizers of our own.” Said the leader vamp, shoving the needle into Dean’s neck roughly. “Let’s see how you like it.” Within seconds, Dean’s body went limp, but he was still clinging on to consciousness. Sam was forced to watch as the vamp lifted his own arm to his mouth, tearing open the flesh of his wrist, and lowered it to Dean’s lips.

“No, Dean!” Sam thrashed about, but to no avail. The blood dripped into Dean’s mouth, the vampire coaxing it down his throat by rubbing his hand up and down under his chin. The female started to laugh her sickening laugh as Dean’s body was thrown to the ground.

“That’s for killing my nest, you ass.” He said bitterly, spitting at the floor beside him.

Sam could feel the vampire’s grip loosen for just a second, her muscles relaxing as confidence took over. He used the blessed moment to break free, spinning around and facing her, just inches between them. With a kick to the stomach, he sent her back a few feet, her balance faltering and legs staggering. Before she could retaliate, his blade fell, splitting open her skull and releasing its contents in a crimson mist. Without skipping a beat, he turned to face his final opponent- the leader- but to his utter surprise, there was no one there. The knife dropped from his hand as he rushed to Dean’s side, calling his name with despair. 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

      The searing pain that plagued Dean’s flesh was crippling, nauseating even, but it did not compare to the relentless pounding in his ears, the constant thumping. A deafening shriek, the amplified sound of a car’s tires skidding around the corner, filled the air and pierced his head. Instinctively, his shaky, sweaty hands moved to cover his ears in an attempt to block out the noise, but it did very little to help. Nothing could have prepared him for this, and to make matters worse, his head was clouded and his memories were momentarily blurred. He did not even remember being turned.

      As his blood-shot eyes opened, blinding light burned away at his over-reactive retinas. He squeezed them back shut, gasping in pain. It felt as if someone had set a fire in his head, scorching him on the inside, like the flames of Hell. When he opened them once again, he received the same welcoming, though this time he was able to adjust to some extent; The light was not as harsh, but everything was unfocused as if looking at the world through someone else’s glasses. The strain of it was giving him a headache.

      Dean tried hard to figure it out, but try as he might, he had no earthly clue what was happening to him and why he hurt in such ways. He couldn’t quite make out exactly where he was, but there was enough around him for him to easily deduce that he was in a low-grade motel. Through all of the pain, one question, a rather obvious one, kept floating through his thoughts- where’s Sam?

      Though his whole body screamed no, he forced himself out of the lumpy, floral-patterned bed he had woken up in and planted his bare feet on the ground, confident that he could manage. Unfortunately, he was wrong. He only lasted one step before his left leg gave out and took him to the floor with a crash, his hand catching the red, felt curtain and pulling it down with him. He was so preoccupied with all of the sensory issues that he failed to notice that he had injured his knee, an injury which was inflicted upon him back at the nest when the vamp threw him into the wall. He let out a curse in frustration.

      “Dean!” Sam called from the other room. Within seconds, he was there beside him helping him back onto the bed, but not without protest, of course.

      “Sammy, I can handle this myself.” Dean argued, pushing at Sam’s aiding arm with his hand. “Seriously, I’m- what the fuck is that sound?” He clenched his teeth and winced as the thumping sound in his ear got louder and faster. This time, it only took him a moment to realize what it was for he could feel it as well, right where Sam’s hand was grasping his bicep. Being as wise as he was, Dean didn’t need full recollection of his memories at this point to be able to figure out what was going on. It was then that it struck him how hungry he was, or rather how thirsty. The feeling was immensely overwhelming to say the least.

      “Sam, you have got to get out of here...”Dean said with a wavering voice, his eyes locked onto Sam’s in a serious though worried stare. Beads of sweat dripped down his forehead and clung to his brow in droplets. Sam’s face pulled in on itself with concern for his brother.

      “I’m not going to lea-”

      “I said go!” With great, unintentional force, Dean pushed him away, sending him back a few feet. His shoulder smacked against the wooden divider, pulling an exclamation of pain out of his throat. Dean instantly jumped to his feet, his mouth hanging open and regret in his eyes.

      “I didn’t mean to, I swear.”

      “It’s okay. Really, it’s okay.” Sam reassured, brushing it off as if it were merely nothing. To him, it really was nothing. They both have been through a lot worse.

     

      After explaining his thirst, Sam left in a hurry with the Impala to get some cattle’s blood. He figured since it worked for the vampires they saved back in Red Lodge, Montana, it would suffice for Dean. Dean wandered into the bathroom shortly after he left to examine what sort of changes had occurred. He turned the sink faucet on cold and splashed some water onto his face. As he wiped it away with is hand, he looked into the smudged-up mirror and stared at his startling reflection with great scrutiny. The first thing that he paid noticed to was his eyes. The whites were now a deep pink and the corneas were crimson like the color of blood. To be frank, it freaked him out and made his skin crawl.

      Overall, he appeared almost sickly, as if he was suffering from some sort of terminal illness. Well, in a sense, he was. Finally, he gently pulled up his lip to peer inside of his mouth. With a little muscle movement, a second set of teeth, all fangs, started to poke out of his gums. He relaxed his mouth and the teeth retracted back in, making a slight squishing sound as they did. The whole thing made Dean’s stomach turn and his chest heavy. Disgusted with what he saw staring back at him, he curled his hand into a tight fist and shattered the mirror, the shards of glass raining down onto the black tile floor like a cascade of stars in the night sky.

      Back in the main part of the motel room, Dean paced, or rather limped, around impatiently, tapping his fingers on his thigh. “What the hell’s taking him so damn long?” He asked aloud, a bitter bite to his tone. It was getting unbearable, and it took every last bit of his will to keep himself from hopping out the window to satisfy his needs on his own.

      All the while, his mind was beginning to clear, and his memories of the previous night came back to him piece by piece in the form of flashbacks playing behind his eyes. One memory in particular was very vivid and induced uncontrollable rage in Dean; it was the image of the leader’s smug, filthy face.

“I’m gonna collect your fucking head.” Unable to hold it back, Dean swung his arm and knocked a pink, porcelain lamp to the floor. Every last feeling of rage, pain, and unnatural thirst amalgamated into one encompassing hold over his body and mind- instinct. Suddenly, all he could hear was the rhythmic cacophony of the population’s hearts within a mile radius. It was a tempting call that he could not ignore for it pulled him in and claimed his soul like the siren’s song.

      Just as Dean’s hand reached for the window, the front door swung open, revealing Sam standing there with a heavy canvas bag in his hand. “Dean, stop. What are you doing?” But it was no use trying to talk to him. Dean was no longer himself, lost to the disease that tormented him. He was a monster. Dean quickly tried to make a run for it, but Sam was there slamming the window shut before he could even get a leg out. “Stop! Just drink the damn cow’s blood I got you.” He tried to take hold of his arm, but Dean flung him back without any hesitation.

      With no other choice, Sam reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, black-metal gun. “I didn’t want to have to do this, but...” He pulled the trigger, sending a dart loaded with dead man’s blood straight into Dean’s neck. He ripped it out savagely, tearing up his flesh, and threw it back at Sam, but it was already too late. The poison was in his system wreaking havoc. A second later, he was collapsed on the floor, same spot as he fell earlier, actually. Sam dropped the gun with a sigh and headed over to where the bag had fallen, shaking his head with exhaustion.

      “Dean...” 

      


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

                “Here, drink it.” Sam said beseechingly, forcing a glass jar of blood into Dean’s hands. “You have to.” Dean’s eyes examined the red liquid with disgust. The thought of it alone made him gag, not to mention the foul smell and metallic taste it possessed. Though it was blood, it was that of cattle, and so, it did little to excite the vampiric part of him. Sam rolled his eyes at his brother, who was acting like a five year old spurning bitter cough syrup; no matter how gravely he needed it, he could not get himself to lift it to his lips and swallow it.

                “Dean.” Sam was becoming impatient. “You know, this was a lot easier when you were unconscious.”

                “Okay, Okay! I’ll do it.” As quickly as he could, Dean pinched his nose and choked down the repugnant blood with contempt. When the jar was cleared, he slammed it down on the wooden kitchenette table and pushed it away, as if to get it as far from him as possible. “That shit is nasty.”

                Dean got up from his chair and walked over to the sink to excessively rinse his mouth out with water to wipe away any remnants of blood. Since he had woken back up, he had not felt any of the previous pain or discomfort, if such a word can even describe what he was experiencing. In fact, even his knee felt better, healed by whatever strange processes were taking place in his body. Neither of them knew, though, whether the ailments vanished as a result of the consumption of blood or if it was simply a matter of time. Dean, personally, did not care what the cause was. He was just relieved to be feeling well again.

                Sam’s eyes followed Dean as he paced around absently, words stuck in the back of his throat. “Dean...” He started, his voice soft, his eyes now lowered to the table focusing on little specks in its surface. Dean stopped in his tracks and looked to his obviously troubled brother. “I did some extensive research while you were out, but...” He rubbed his legs nervously, having more difficulty sharing the bad news than he expected. “Dean, I can’t find anything on reversing this.” His eyes finally, and firmly, met Dean’s.  “What if we can’t-” he continued, unintentionally raising his voice, but Dean cut him off before he could finish his sentence. Its ending was obvious.

                “Sam, stop. It hasn’t even been a whole day yet.”

                “Actually, it’s been two.” The fact comes to him as a surprise, but he shakes it off in order to keep to his point and retain his façade.

                “Whatever, we’ll just continue searching until we find something. We’re gonna get through this.” There was so much Sam wanted to say, so many worries and arguments running through his head, but he held it all back. If Dean can remain positive, he thought, the least I can do is try to do the same, for his sake. After all, it was Dean who had to carry the huge weight on his shoulders. “Vampires still drink regular stuff, right? How ‘bout you go grab us some beers, and I’ll pick up on the research while you’re at it?” Dean suggested, raising his eyebrows.

                Sam forced a half-smile and pushed himself out of his chair. “Alright, but don’t forget to drink some blood if you feel like you might lose control again.”

                “What, are you gonna be gone for a week?” Dean commented sarcastically, throwing in a little laugh. “And get me some pie!” He yelled as Sam walked out the door.

 

                A case of Dean’s favorite beer in the passenger seat, Sam headed back towards the motel at a leisurely pace. As much as he wanted to be there for his brother, he was in no rush to get back to that cramped room full of unsaid words. He needed some time to his own thoughts. When the motel was in sight, he made the sudden decision to turn right a few roads early. “Dean can manage.”

                With an awkward shift, Sam stuck his hand into his jeans pocket and pulled out his beat-up Nokia flip phone. He held it open in his hand for a moment before making up his mind and dialing Bobby’s number. He would know what to do. He always knew.

                “Hello?” Bobby’s voice alone was enough to alleviate some of the pressure on Sam’s chest.

                “Hey, it’s Sam.” He tried his best to keep his tone in check as long as possible, as to ease into the issue and prevent any unnecessary wariness. So far, so good.

                “Oh, how’d you boys do with that vamp case in Pennsylvania?” There was no avoiding it now. That didn’t last long, he thought to himself.

                “Well, that’s why I called...”

                “Oh boy, what’s the trouble this time?” He grumbled, seeming more bothered with what work might be ahead of him than genuinely concerned. “I thought you two would have been done with this job days ago.”

                “Bobby,” Sam started with severity ringing in his thick voice. “The job _is_ done. We cleaned out the nest. That’s not the problem.” The silence from the other end of the phone queued Sam to reveal the real problem at hand. “It’s Dean.” A deep sigh was the only response he received. “Bobby, Dean’s been turned.” Silence...

                “Balls!” Sam could hear Bobby slamming his fist down on the wooden desk of his study. “Leave it to you two idjits to get into a mess like this!” He winced at the words being shouted at him, though he knew that Bobby was lashing out due to distress and care, not anger or disappointment. A long gap devoid of any sound filled the minute that followed. Neither end was sure what to say. What _could_ one say at such a time?

                “Bobby, what do we do?” It was less of a question and more like a child’s plea for help. The hopelessness in his voice brought Bobby heartache. These were his boys, and they were in some deep shit.

                “I’m guessing you had no luck finding anything?”

“No. Dean keeps on insisting that we’ll figure something out, but I...”

“Let’s not start giving up yet, kid. Share some of Dean’s faith in this.” Bobby said softly, but with reassurance. At this time, Sam was pulling into a parking spot outside their motel room, the sun setting on the horizon behind him in shades of orange and red. With the twist of his wrist on the key, the engine shut off, but he lingered in the car. “Hmm... I might have something. Hold on a second.” Sam waited patiently as the crisp sound of papers being shuffled around filtered through the phone. It only took him half a minute to find what he was looking for. “Got it.”

                “What is it?” he asked eagerly, intrigued by this tiny spark of hope. Please be something good, he prayed.

                “Well, I don’t know how much stock we can put into it, but there’s this hunter I’ve heard of in Illinois who is supposedly one hell of a healer, especially when it comes to things supernatural.” Sam wasn’t sure what to think at first, his natural instinct to be skeptical kicking in, but he listened intently none the less. “I know a guy that went to him after being poisoned by an Arachne, and he was venom-free within an hour. It might be worth a shot, paying him a visit.”

               Sam let out a laugh, a near smile on his face. He finally had a proper lead, some shred of hope to cling onto. “Thanks, I’ll definitely check it out. I’ll tell Dean when I get it, and then I can leave first thing in the morning.”

                “Speaking of Dean, how’s he holding up?”

                “He’s alright, I guess. He’s been drinking cows blood and resting a lot. Right now he’s probably busy researching.”

                “That’s good. So he has been handling it well?”

              “Yeah, I would say. He did kind of lose control last night, though, but I’m sure it was only because he needed blood.” Sam’s heart sank. He knew what was coming next. He knew fully well for he had been running from the thought all day. It was now his biggest fear, something one would have nightmares about.

                “Sam, ya know, if this healer thing doesn’t pan out-”

                “Bobby, I know. I know.”

                “Just listen to me, kid. Let me explain.” As much as he wanted to hide from the truth, to avoid the inevitable, he allowed him to continue. “Say we can’t find a cure. You two won’t be able to hide this forever, nor will you be able to keep it under control. What if Dean slips up, and, god forbid, kills someone? There will be an endless line of hunters on his ass as soon as word of this gets out, and you won’t be able to protect him. If we can’t find a way to fix this soon... I’m afraid you’re gonna have to kill him yourself.”

                There was a pause before his response came, a pause during which his heart snapped in two. “I know.”

                “I wish you luck, Sammy.”

                “Bye, Bobby.”

                It took all the strength in the world to open the door of the Impala.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

                The gnawing pit in Sam’s stomach made it seem near impossible to make it to the motel room door, but for the benefit of everyone, he tried his best to keep in mind that there was important news to be delivered, and with the strength that it provided, he grabbed the beers, the glass bottles jingling as they clattered together, and headed towards their room. Meanwhile, Dean waited casually on the edge of his bed with the laptop by his side, pouring out copious amounts of heat due to long periods of usage. He had heard the purr of the Impala pulling in, and so he took a break from his laborious delving in the lore of vampirism. It was getting tiresome anyways, and he needed a moment of simple relaxation.

                As Sam reached for the brass doorknob, he swallowed his carnivorous apprehension and put on his best smile. He walked through the door, holding up the beers as if to show off to Dean how he had bought his favorite brew. Dean’s face lit up as he pushed himself off the bed, giving a small nod of approval, but the expression melted soon after.

                “Dude, you forgot the pie.” Dean was starting to suspect that it was intentional oblivion, considering Sam never seemed to remember such an elementary task. “You’re lucky you snagged good beer.

                Sam grabbed two beers from the case and handed one to his brother who was getting himself situated in a seat at the table. He took his own place across from him, and the two of them clinked their bottles as they always did in times of rest, the hints of smiles forming on their lips. Dean was right; they really did need this. Sam was already starting to let go of his anxieties born from the conversation with Bobby.  He figured now would be a good a time as any to inform Dean of the man in Illinois.

                “I talked to Bobby on the way back.” Dean took a sip of his drink and eyed Sam, trying to glean from his face and mannerisms where this story was headed. Most conversations they had turned sour quite quickly, but fortunately, this was not such a case, and Dean could tell.

                “What did he say?” Dean asked before taking another draught.

                “Well, I told him about your situation, and... and it seems like we might finally have a lead.” Dean did a quick look over to make sure Sam was being serious, which he was.

                “That’s great!” He was truly ecstatic, which was not a common occurrence. Sam could not help but to let out a small laugh to accompany his smile. “I really wasn’t expecting us to find anything so soon. Not that I’m complaining. So, what’s the lead?”

                “There’s this hunter over in Illinois who’s supposedly a miracle worker when it comes to curing the supernatural.” Right away, Sam could detect the same skepticism that he had experienced earlier flickering in Dean, could see it written on his face the way his brow dipped down, and so, he explained to him what Bobby had said of the man’s work.   

                “Well, that’s- this is great!” It was Dean who was laughing now, unable to hold back how utterly relieved he was to know that there was some hope for him returning to normal. Still, in the back corners of his mind, he knew this was not a sure thing, and Sam was thinking likewise, but neither of them spoke a word of this obvious fact, determined not to ruin the one hopeful moment they have experienced in some time. “We should leave first thing in the morning.”

                Sam dry-swallowed nervously and put down his beer, not wanting to say the thing he was about to say. “Dean,” he paused a moment, looking away from his brother. “I’m going alone.”

                “There’s no way.”

“Look, I don’t think it would be a good idea if you came.”

                “Well tough! There’s no way in hell I’m going to wait around here in this musty shithole while you go off and get MY cure.” Any last bit of pleasantness or joy was now gone, both disappointed with where the conversation went.

               “That’s not what I had in mind. Just hear me out. If you come with me, you’ll be exposing yourself to a lot of people, and I’m not going to be able to have my eyes on you 24-7, nor will I be able to subdue you if something goes wrong. As much as you want to argue that you have everything under control, you don’t, and we both know it.”

                “Then what’s your great plan? ‘Cause I can’t see how me being alone is better than having you with me.” Dean asked sarcastically, annoyed.

                “Remember that safe house Rufus has just about an hour north of here? I say we keep you there until I get back, that way you’ll be well enough away from any people. You’ll have plenty of cattle blood to keep you fed, so you should be fine.”

                Though Dean wanted very much to protest Sam’s plan, he knew it was the safest option they had. He let out a sigh and slapped his hands down on the table defeatedly. “Fine, but you better not take more than two days.”

 

                The next morning, before the sun could even touch the horizon, the Winchesters were busy packing the car for their trip up to the mountains. Sam had made sure to buy plenty of food and beer to keep Dean satisfied, for he still had human cravings, and there were still several jars of blood for him to drink. With everything secured in the trunk, they hopped into the Impala and started off. The ride up was quiet, to say the least.

                By the time they got there, the first rays of sunlight were touching down, casting a faint golden warmth on the forest. The air was still and dewy, but with a slight chill that made it feel pleasant against one’s skin. The safe house was rather quaint, just a few hundred square feet, but it was comfortable enough and would do the job. It was made of some sort of dark wood, perhaps cherry, and there was a roofed porch in the front with a few steps that led up to it. Dean’s hand glided along the railing as he walked up to the door, moisture from the wood wetting his palm. Everything smelled so fresh and pure, the subtle scent of pine and the earthiness of the forest floor wafting through.

                The screen door slammed behind them on a spring as they walked in, causing dust to lift up into the air. It was obvious that it had not been used in some time, made evident by the gray blanket that was settled over everything. The inside was furnished exactly how one would assume with typical mountain-home furniture and wicker chairs around a stone fireplace. The floor, of course, was hardwood with a thin, triangle-patterned rug spread out in the centre of the room. In one corner was a kitchenette where Sam was busy storing the provisions, and in the other was a door to the bedroom Dean would be sleeping in. To no one’s surprise, there was not a bathroom.

                Once Dean was situated and everything was put away, Sam grabbed the keys and reluctantly prepared to head off. He had a long day of driving ahead of him, and he was going to be all alone for it. He scratched the back of his head and shifted on his feet as he watched Dean seat himself on the blanketed couch, not wanting to have to leave so soon.

                “Well, I’m gonna head out.” Dean looked up to him and gave him a nod.

                “You better come back with a cure.” His tone was only half-joking. If Sam did not find a way to return him back to normal, they would be back at square one, and he doubted they would find such a lead again.

                “I will.” Sam replied, with softness in his eyes. He meant it, too. He would tear up the world for Dean. Nothing would stop him from saving his brother from this cursed fate. “Good luck.” Dean followed Sam with his eyes as he walked out the door. He flinched as the screen slammed.

 

                Time passed by with agonizing slowness, with close to nothing for Dean to do to keep himself occupied. He tried to rest, being that he only got two hours the previous night, but it was no use. ‘Aren’t vampires supposed to be nocturnal?’ Dean thought to himself, but that did not seem to matter. He simply had too much on his mind to go down. Around noon, he wandered outside, something that was probably unadvisable, but he could no longer stand being cooped up in that stuffy, little room. The trees provided just enough coverage for him to not be irritated by the sun. Dean particularly liked the outdoors and enjoyed hikes and such things, so he thought it a shame that he did not get to do so too often. Usually for them, forests meant hunting Wendigos, so it was nice being able to enjoy it peacefully for once.

                It was also quite a different experience stepping through the forest as a vampire. Everything was more vivid and noisy, the hearts of the forest-dwellers beating all around. It felt so connected, so alive. Birds chirped away in a whirlwind of rhythmless notes overhead in the trees while rabbits and other little creatures rushed about on the damp forest floor, scavenging for food and tending to their offspring. Dean could sense the steady, slowed pulse of an animal hunting its prey in the distance. He could not see any of it, but it was like he could feel it. The whole thing was surreal.

                Eventually he found his way to a small lake that was teeming with life. Untouched by man, the cool waters were full of silvery fish and abundant with underwater vegetation. Ducks floated gracefully across the lake’s still surface, one or two occasionally bobbing under the water for a brief moment. In the shade of a great oak tree, Dean took a seat in the gravely bank and stretched out his legs. Before long, he picked up a few smooth stones and tossed them over in his hand. He pondered skipping them across the lake, but his first two tries were not successful. On his third try, he got the wrist movement just right, sending the stone across the water with little hops that created ripples that expanded forever.

                Time had escaped him on his adventurous escapade through the woods, and his tiredness had finally caught up to him. It was then that he also realized how thirsty he was starting to get. He lingered in the cool shade for a sweet moment before heading back to the safe house. As soon as he got in, he kicked his boots off, plopped down on the couch, and drifted softly and swiftly into sleep, completely forgetting the fact that he was due for a dose of blood. While he slept, he dreamed of fishing in the lake he had found, his little brother by his side.  Unfortunately, he would not remember dreaming of such things when he woke up.  

                


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

                Hours later, long after the sun had set and the moon had taken its place in the sky, Dean shot awake with a violent jolt of panic, tormented by a blood-splattered nightmare. His whole body burned and ached, and his insides felt as dry as bones. Though it was not as bad as the other day, it was still a living hell. There was a throbbing pain in his head that made him clench his hands tight. Just as he was about to get up and replenish himself with a bottle of blood from the kitchen, a rustling outside stole his full attention, pulling his mind away from the pain. He was suddenly alert and apprehensive, his hunter instincts kicking in. A strange scent was in the air, and though he could not place it, he knew it to be familiar, and something inside of him subconsciously labeled it as dangerous. There was another, more subtle scent coalesced with the first, one that stirred an undesired lust within him. Beyond his control, his secondary set of teeth pushed their way out through his tender gums.

                Splinters of jagged wood dispersed throughout the room as the front door shattered by unknown means. Dean covered his head and ducked as the shards rained down upon him in a barrage. When all had settled, he looked up to meet an unwelcomed visitor standing just a few yards away, hands and shirt dripping with fresh blood.

                “Found you.” There stood the vampire that turned Dean, wearing the same smug face of over confidence and elitism as before. Dean did very little to respond, simply eyeing him with deep hatred and disgust. The vamp let out an airy laugh, taking a few steps closer. “Didn’t take me too long to hunt you down. I was just surprised you left town so soon. Most stay around for a few days, feasting on easy prey without any guidance before I come and take them under my wing.”

                The thought of him turning other people made Dean sick, now knowing the pure agony of the process, but still, he said nothing. He just held the same burning stare. The vampire got amusement out of it. “I can’t tell if you want to strangle me to death or arouse me with autoerotic asphyxia.” He teased with a wink. A few more steps and he was only a matter of inches from Dean, the smell of blood heavy on him like a musk. It was intoxicating, filling his head and making him dizzy with craving. “Let me properly introduce myself.” He started, taking a few steps back and starting to circle. “My name is Lyle, but you can call me Master, if that’s your kink. You, I happen to know your name is Dean, but that’s irrelevant ‘cause you’re just my little bitch.” He paused and stopped in place a moment, waiting for Dean to respond or reply, but no comment was forthcoming. Lyle’s face grew strained, and again, he closed the distance between them, getting right in Dean’s face and grabbing his jaw with a rough, bloody hand. “The whole silent thing isn’t cute anymore. In fact, it’s starting to really fucking annoy me.” He was fuming.

                In an act of great defiance, Dean spit right in the vampire’s eye, a ballsy move that would not go without punishment. Lyle pushed Dean’s head back and dug his fangs viciously into Dean’s neck, right above his left shoulder. Now he had blood on his hands, shirt, and lips. With a tongue that moved like a serpent’s, he licked up the crimson drug and closed his eyes with sick pleasure, tauntingly. “Mmm, maybe I should have eaten you up instead of turnin’ ya. You taste much sweeter than those bar folk did.” It was that comment, the mentioning of the lives lost under Dean’s watch, that finally pushed him past his limits of tolerance.

                “You sick bastard.” Dean drew back his fist in preparation to strike, but Lyle stopped him with the raise of his hand before he could throw a punch.

                “Ah ah ah.” He warned, shaking his finger in the air the way a mother does when disciplining a child. It was then that Dean realized they were not alone. Two figures materialized from the shadows beyond the hole where the door once stood, a pair of crazed male vampires with bloody faces. He could tell they were fledglings, even more recently turned than himself. They still had that telltale wild, insatiable hunger in their eyes, the intense, instinctual drive to kill and feed. “I’ve been busy repopulating my family ever since you and your brother murdered my last batch. You know, you are welcome to join.”

                “We both know that’s never going to happen.” Dean was busy taking in the situation, coming up with ways to get out alive and calculating his chances. It was three against one, and though there was no evidence behind the thought, Dean figured that vamps pumped full of human blood were at an advantage over one who has been sipping animal blood. Hopefully, he would not have to put that theory to the test.

                One of the male vampires had something off-putting in his grasp- the ankle of a slender, tanned leg. Trailing behind him, dragging across the floor, was the limp body of a woman whose face was unidentifiable underneath all of the bruises and dried up blood caked onto her skin. She was not dead, but she was unconscious and barely clinging on to the last bit of life she had left in her. To make the sight more gory, her neck was ripped apart and there were various bites and gashes all up and down her arms. She looked so young, no more than twenty three, Dean thought. Rage flared up inside him, blood rushing to his hot face and reddening his cheeks.

                “Dean, say hello to dinner.” Lyle said with the tracings of a smile on his lips, gesturing to the girl on the ground. Dean lost control again, Lyle taking it a step too far. He landed a powerful blow to his face, but the victory was short lived. Within a second, the two fledglings were on him, grabbing his arms and putting him in heavy restraint. He struggled and struggled, but to no avail.

                “Oh, how history repeats itself.” He let out another airy laugh, enjoying it all far too much. He picked up the woman by her chestnut hair and carried her to Dean, dangling her like a piece of meat in front of his face. Something began to boil up within him, that aching thirst. It was her blood, the smell of it drowning him and luring him at such close quarters. He was losing control, losing himself. He tried to fight it, but the effort was futile, He was no longer Dean; he was a monster.

                With the vampiric side of him taking over, revitalizing him and providing him with new strength, he broke free from his holders and grabbed at the body before him. With virgin fangs, he ripped into her soft flesh, sucking at it hungrily. He was elated. It felt so pleasurable, so natural, and it tasted far better than the cow’s blood. It was like a drug, filling his system and surging him with feelings of ecstasy and bliss. He was sucking her dry. Lyle and the others had to pull him off of her and hold him back. His eyes were wide and possessed that vampiric quality once again, his humanity lost.

                “Haha, nice to see you enjoying yourself.” Lyle patted Dean on his shoulder approvingly. Looking at him, one would not even recognize him. “So, what do you think of my offer now? Gonna join me?” Dean did not answer, not due to defiance like before, but rather because he was incapable of responding. He was in a frenzy. His eyes darted all around, and his hands opened and closed repeatedly as if he was dying to tear something apart. Lyle eyed his creation with a smirk and turned towards the exit. “Cyrus,” he called, addressing one of the vamps holding Dean. “Bring him to the truck. He’s coming with us.” 


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

          Cyrus took hold of Dean as he was directed to, but Dean put up a struggle, not because he was really against going; he didn’t have enough comprehension or capacity to even care about such fates. He simply refused to be restrained. The defiance was beginning to become quite an issue, though, and so the other vamp came up behind him and injected him with dead man’s blood to subdue him. He and Cyrus grabbed Dean by the arms and legs and hauled him outside into the cool, night air.

          Beside the rusty, blue Ford pickup truck stood Lyle, hand on his hip waiting impatiently. “What took you two so long?” He asked with a mordacious tone, but he was not looking for any answer. “Load him into the back.” The two fledglings nodded their understanding. “And secure him.” Lyle added. “I don’t want him escaping or nothing if he comes to.”

          Lyle ran a hand over his face, scratching at his stubble and shifting on his feet. A firm hand landed suddenly on his shoulder, causing him to turn around on a swift pivot out of surprise. “What the-?!” There in front of him stood a man wearing a beige trench coat and a blue tie, a silver blade in his other hand. It was Castiel, angel of the lord.

          Before Lyle could question Cas’ arrival, he swung the blade resolutely, aiming to kill. He jumped back to avoid the attack, his feet skidding in the dirt. Who the hell is this guy? He thought. Lyle was experiencing a strange sensation that he had not felt in a very long time, the same horrible feeling he loved to inflict upon others- fear. Every last bit of him feared this stranger, and he listened to that fear. With the greatest speed he could muster, he raced to the door of the truck and hopped inside without looking back for a second.

          Cas switched targets, now going after the other two vampires, the ones who, at the moment, really mattered, for they had Dean. At the sight of him, Cyrus and the other vamp switched into attack mode, their fangs coming out. They were still too heavily influenced by the new blood coursing through their veins to pick up on the intense and frightening vibe Cas exuberated, the same aura that made Lyle, a powerful and ruthless vampire, cower. Their erroneous belief of having even the slightest chance, however, only pushed them closer to their deaths.

          Cas moved in swiftly, his hand tightly squeezing the blade in his grasp. He was determined to rescue and protect Dean, and anyone who stood in his way would surely meet their end by his hands. He swung at Cyrus who sidestepped the attack and grabbed Cas’ arm, but Cas retaliated by kicking him back a few feet, freeing him from the vamp’s grip.

          At that point, the truck’s engine started up, a billow of smoke puffing out of the pipe in the rear. Cas used this opportunity to take a swing at the other vamp who, like Cyrus, also sidestepped the attack, but he was expecting such, and so he proceeded quickly with another attempt which caught the vampire off guard. The blade slashed through his thick neck, his severed head falling with a thump against the ground next to Dean. Cyrus was retreating into the truck before Cas could do the same to him. He intended to prevent their departure, but the noisy truck was already speeding off down the dirt road away from the little mountain house.

          “Dean...”

 

          “Eugh.” Dean grunted sleepily, rubbing his eyes in an attempt to rid his head of grogginess as he sat up in an unfamiliar bed. “My head...”

          “Dean.”

          “He jumped a little, startled by the unexpected voice. He opened his eyes to find the angel standing over him.

          “Cas! What are you-!” He was going to freak out, irked by Cas’ creepy tendency to watch him while he slept, but something stopped him. It was the faint memory of the previous night. The last thing he could remember was Lyle and two other vampires surrounding him, and also the limp body of some woman, but even that was a blur. Either way, he was certain that he was in a sticky situation, and surely it had to have been Cas who bailed him out of it. “I, ugh... thanks.” Cas simply nodded once, unsure what to say. He was just relieved Dean was not mad.

          After the vampires had fled, Cas took Dean inside and into to back room to lay him down on the bed. His clothes were covered in mud and various bloods, but Cas worried that Dean would become upset or annoyed if he woke up to find he had changed his clothes, so instead he just left him in them. He did, however, clean the mess off of Dean’s face. It was while doing that that he had realized what had become of Dean and why the vamps were attempting to take him away. Obviously he had his suspicions prior, but the blood on his lips confirmed it.

          Cas sat at the edge of the bed as the night turned to morning, the sun peeking in through the dust covered window and casting a honey colored light on Dean. He waited there patiently and protectively like a loyal dog, waiting for Dean to awaken. He occasionally rested a soothing hand on his shoulder when his dreams seemed to trouble him, only to then pull it away whenever Dean threatened to wake up. Dean would never know about these little things.

          Dean wandered into the other room, staring blankly at the gaping hole in the wall, looking past it at the trees that touched the horizon. “How did you know I was in danger?” Dean asked objectively, still gazing outside. Cas came up next to him and followed his stare.

          “I could sense that something was off. You seemed _feral_. I came right away.” Cas turned to him, eyeing over his smooth profile in the glow of the light shining in. He looked so peaceful, but Cas knew the turmoil that was surely going on inside.

          “I’m sure you know by now what happened to me.” Dean sounded ashamed almost. In fact, he was ashamed. He felt pathetic and hopeless. Part of him wanted to Cas to be mad at him, to be angry and abandon him. He did not feel he deserved sympathy or comfort. Nothing so tainted and impure did.

          Cas was not like that, though. “Yes, I am aware. I am sorry I could not help you any sooner.” He said softly. Dean finally turned to meet him, a look of sorrow in his eyes. The same look was reflected in Cas’ pools of deep, crystal blue. The got lost like that for a moment. It was so easy to do.

          Dean was the one to break the silence, and with it the connective fix. “Sam’s out in Illinois searching for a cure. Should be back some time tomorrow.” He headed over to the kitchen, leaving Cas standing alone. “There’s a pretty big chance he won’t find anything, though.”

          “I’ll see if I can find anything when I return to Heaven.”

          “Thanks.” Dean replied with a half-smile, a jar of cattle’s blood now in his hand. “Sorry, I have to drink this.” Dean added self-consciously. “You should stay a while. No need to rush back to Heaven just yet, and besides, I could use some company.” This was his subtle way of asking Cas to stay, for he surely could not ask it outright.

          “Of course.” Cas said with a nod. He was glad to know Dean wanted him around. It had been a while since they last truly got to spend any real time together, and he was looking forward to it. Though Cas did not know, Dean was looking forward to it, too.   

          


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

            The morning rolled on by slow and lazy like syrup dripping down the side of the bottle. Though Dean now had Cas around to keep him company, there was still little for them to occupy their time with in that stuffy house besides talking to one another, but Cas was not exactly good at that, and neither of them had much to say anyway. Dean got to drinking early to fill the boredom while Cas tried to figure out Tetris on Dean’s cell; it did not go well.

            “My thumb keeps hitting the wrong button.” He complained aloud. Dean tried to hide his smile behind the nozzle of his beer bottle.

            Tired with the troublesome game, Cas returned the phone to Dean and snuck into the kitchen. Dean made an effort not to pay attention to him rummaging through the cabinets, the doors squeaking on old hinges as he opened each one to inspect the contents inside. Metal cans clanked as he moved things around with little awareness to how much noise he was making, searching for something. Dean let out a defeated sigh and finally got up when a glass jar shattered on the floor, spilling apricot preserves out all over.

            “Need some help?” Dean asked, taking a step over the sticky mess and placing his beer on the counter. Cas looked flustered, a slight redness in his cheeks.

            “I’m looking for the eggs.”

            “Cas, eggs are refrigerated.” Dean said with a teasing, little laugh. He accepted the information with no embarrassment by his mistake and moved over to the ice box that Sam had brought. “What do you need eggs for anyway?”

            “I want to make you lunch.” Cas said simply. Dean quickly realized how bad of an idea that was, but rather than rejecting it, he did his best to manage the situation.

            “Here, why don’t you let me do this part.” Cas watched over Dean’s shoulder intently as he cracked the eggs into a bowl, seasoned them, and poured them into a pan that he had placed on a gas fired hot plate he had found in one of the bottom cabinets. He handed Cas a wooden spoon and took a step back to let him take over. “Just mix them around every once in a while.”

            As Dean watched the angle hovering over the pan, he felt struck with a sense of nostalgia. It took him a second to place it.

            It reminded him of when he and Sam were younger, back when their father, John, would leave the two of them alone in motel rooms while he went off hunting. Dean, being the older one, would always do the cooking, but Sam often begged to help out, as to not feel totally useless. Dean would do all of the harder parts and let Sam give a hand where he could.

            “Dean, I think they are done.” Cas’ voice pulled Dean out of his reminiscence and back to reality, a smile on his lips. He leaned over Cas’ shoulder to get a good look and gave an affirming nod. He grabbed the pan off the heat and scooped  the eggs onto two plates which he had set on the table for them.

 

            After their scanty lunch of scrambled eggs, Dean got to work on hanging a blanket over the gaping hole in the wall to keep stuff from blowing in, but that only took a few minutes. With nothing left to do, he wandered around the outside of the cabin to take a breather while Cas gave Tetris another go. Propped up next to the porch, he found a couple of fishing poles, which were usable albeit rusty. That gave him an idea. He quickly snatched two of them up and carried them inside.

            He found Cas on the couch bent over the cell phone, his attention glued to the screen with frustration. “Why don’t you take a break from that?” Dean suggested. “I found something we can do.”

            Cas sat up, perplexed, and looked over at what Dean was holding with squinted eyes and a tilted head. “Fishing rods?”

            “Yeah. There’s a lake close by to here. I figured I could teach you how to fish, ya know, to pass time.” A subdued emotion swirled lightly in  Cas’ chest as he heard the idea.

            “Sure.” He replied with a nod. Dean handed Cas the rods and made a quick trip to the kitchen to grab the rest of the items they would need: the ice box, a loaf of stale bread, and just to be safe, a jar of blood. Cas followed a step behind as Dean led him to the secluded lake in the midst of the dense woods.

            He stopped in awe as he laid eyes on the still, peaceful body of water. Like when Dean first found it, ducks padded along the lake’s surface, all of them quacking as one decided to flap its wings about. He watched as the fish swam about in the clear water, their metallic scales shining various hues of blue and green in the light. He even started a bit when a well hidden frog croaked and hopped into the water with a splash. All the while, Dean was busy rolling little pieces of bread into dense balls and pierced them on the fishing hooks. A curse slipped out under his breath as he pricked himself.

            Snapping Cas from his dazed state of amazement, Dean handed him one of the fishing rods and gave him a few quick instructions and pointers on what to do. Though he would not admit it, he himself did not really know what he was doing, being that he had only ever gone fishing once with Bobby many years ago, but he was surely giving it his best shot. They both cast their lines, Cas’ going much further than Dean’s, and watched as ripples spread out along the surface where their bobbers touched down.

            “Now you gotta keep an eye on that red ball that’s floating on the water. If you see it go under, that means you’ve got something.” Dean instructed.

            “What do I do then?”  
            “You pull the rod back and reel it in.” Cas gave a nod, thinking it seemed simple enough.

 

            It came as a surprise to both of them that it was actually much more difficult than it sounded in theory. Time after time, their catch would get away from them before they could reel it in all the way. They, however, were not about to give up.

            “Cas, you should try casting the line a little closer.” Dean was not sure if what he was saying was accurate, but it sounded right. “It might help.” Cas was still sending it out pretty far, though. “Here, let me show you.” Dean got in close and showed him how it was done, using his hands and body to help Cas through the motions. “Good. See? You’ve got it.” Cas smiled.

           

            The sun was getting intense, and it was becoming an issue for Dean. His skin stung where the light hit him as if he had full-body sunburn. Much to his disliking, he was forced to retreat to the shade until the clouds moved back in. Cas offered to join him, but Dean assured him it was alight. He took the time to guzzle down the blood he brought along while Cas continued trying for his first catch.

            Dean was half asleep, propped up against a giant oak tree, when a commotion on the bank brought him back to. Cas was grunting as he struggled laboriously with the fishing pole. He was quick to get up and see what the matter was.

            “Need some help?” Dean asked, his eyebrows raised. Cas shot him a quick look and shook his head.

            “I think the hook is caught on something under the water. It won’t reel in.” Dean watched the rod bend wildly as Cas pulled harder and harder. Then with a great snap, the line broke. As it recoiled, Cas lost his balance and started to fall, back first, toward the lake, a shocked expression on his face. Dean instinctively shot out a hand to grab him, which he managed to do, but it was too late. They both landed in the cold water with a loud splash, Dean right on time of Cas.

            Dean immediately broke into hearty laugher, but Cas was not as amused, feeling quite embarrassed. Fortunately, the water there had a shallow enough depth that Cas only had to prop himself up with his hands to be out of it. Dean stood himself up and offered Cas a hand, helping him to his feet. His trench coat was over saturated and dripped heavily, leaving a wet trail in his wake.

            “Wanna head back?” Cas did not respond but simply nodded twice.

 

            Dean kicked off his muddy boots on the front porch, Cas following his lead and doing the same, and both took off their drenched jackets and hung them over the railing to dry. Cas turned to wander inside, but Dean stopped him with his hand.

            “Let’s stay out here a little longer to dry off.” He sat down at the top of the stairs that led up to the porch and patted the spot next to him as an invitation for Cas to join him. He hesitated a moment before taking his place.

            Personal space no longer existed between them. They were always right beside each other, their arms practically touching, and though it used to bother Dean, it no longer fazed him. Cas’ closeness was now so familiar to him.

            As they sat there, Dean could feel Cas’ warmth, feel his hot breath against his cheek. A pressure started to build up in his chest, a feeling that always seemed to happen around Cas. For once in his life, Dean decided to act on it. He slowly reached his hand over and placed it gently on Cas’. Cas pulled his hand away, confused and unsure, but Dean’s only followed. Neither of them said anything. They did not look at each other. They simply sat there, hand in hand, taking the first step towards something greater, something they both desperately needed and wanted.  

           

             


End file.
